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  She would have revenge—and he would face justice.

  3

  Midnight Sun Fishing Camp

  This spring

  IN THE LAST EIGHT YEARS, Petie had risen up the Midnight Sun chain of command to become Hawley’s camp director. She no longer had to pick up guests from the airstrip and drive them to their accommodations at the fishing camp; however, when Cardinal Electronics CEO Jeen Lee requested Petie perform that service, Petie made an exception.

  Now Bradley Copeland and Jeen Lee rode in the back seat of the Land Rover, and with the painful care of someone who spoke Quemadese as a second language, Bradley Copeland said, “When we announce the chip, Cardinal Electronics stock is going to leap. Miss Lee, have you made your moves?”

  Presumptuous of him. But if the discussion Petie had overheard from Miss Lee’s employees was true, that was to be expected. Bradley was not only the new technological wonder boy, but a conceited young American who effortlessly offended everyone he met.

  What did Jeen Lee think of him?

  No way to tell. Miss Lee was a woman of indecipherable age, with carefully tended skin, a forehead botoxed and wrinkle-free, dark eyes fringed with lash extenders and generous lips tattooed a dark, glorious red. She ate sparingly, worked out diligently and moved with choreographed grace. The online community officially admired Jeen Lee for all she had achieved in her business life, but if one dug deeper, and Petie had, elements of a darker past emerged. The woman who fronted the prominent tech company operating from Quemada had once been feared for her cruel, swift vengeance against anyone who betrayed her.

  She was feared still. Yet she had never been anything but kind to Petie, and Petie had her own reasons for doing the secret thing she had done. Now she had to find the nerve, and the right moment, to tell Miss Lee the truth.

  As they bounced along the gravel road, Bradley asked in Quemadese, “The driver—does she understand us?”

  “She’s American.” Miss Lee could not have sounded more bored.

  “So am I, and I speak Quemadese.”

  “So you do,” Miss Lee said.

  “I’m getting better!” He was defensive. “I have a gift for languages!” And conceited.

  “When you are not born on the islands, it is a difficult language, the distillation of more than five hundred years of varied European, African and American cultures.” Miss Lee had been born on the islands. Located near the equator, from the time of Isla Quemada’s fifteenth-century discovery by the Spanish, the primary island and the smaller islands had been a shipping crossroads and a haven for the dispossessed. Since Quemada won its independence in 1977, they had welcomed tourists who enjoyed luxury and natural beauty, and more important for Miss Lee, the islands proved a haven for corporations like Cardinal Electronics.

  During the winters, Petie had enjoyed online explorations of Quemada. As the wind howled and the snow blew sideways, she imagined herself in a cottage above a white sand beach, basking in sun and breeze.

  Someday...

  In a self-congratulatory tone, Bradley said, “It’s good for me to be able to communicate in the dialect.”

  Dialect? Petie wouldn’t have phrased it quite like that.

  “This driver does look Asian.” Bradley didn’t know how to say Asian in Quemadese, so it came out in clear English.

  “Asian. Really.” Petie could feel Miss Lee’s gaze on her profile.

  “Maybe Chinese. It’s her skin. Good color, nice texture.” His tone was patronizing enough to make Petie’s teeth grind.

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Miss Lee said.

  “And her hair. Black and straight. But that braid!” He laughed as if Petie’s choice of style amused him.

  Petie looked into the rearview mirror and met Miss Lee’s low-lidded gaze.

  Miss Lee shrugged. “American. Lots of different ancestors. Like you. So what?”

  Petie had never actually spoken Quemadese to Jeen Lee, but somehow Miss Lee figured out that Petie spoke a little and understood more.

  “Miss Lee, industrial spies lurk everywhere.”

  Bradley’s instructional tone irritated Petie, and she aimed the vehicle at a particularly deep pothole and hit it straight on.

  Miss Lee swayed with the motion.

  Bradley’s head hit the window. He grabbed the ceiling strap and said in English, “You! Driver! Watch where you’re going. I’ll have you fired!”

  Fired? Really? Would he try?

  Miss Lee seemed not to notice his little tantrum. In Quemadese, she said, “I’ve been coming here seven summers. This person, this Petie, has been here every year. I’ve spoken freely in front of her in many languages, and not a hint of my business has been released.”

  That was true. Petie didn’t tell anyone what Miss Lee said about upcoming breakthroughs, but through Hawley, Petie had nonetheless acted on them. As she would act on this one involving their new chip.

  Every year, Jeen Lee was the camp’s first guest of the season. Last week, she had arrived to make sure the preparations for her team-building retreat had been done to her specifications. When she was satisfied, she took personal time to hike Denali, then returned in time to greet her employees.

  Earlier today, as her crew of professionals arrived and dispersed among the camp’s rooms and cabins, Miss Lee had introduced two young women as her attendants, Matella and Tziamara. She explained they would care for her needs. The lodge would provide fresh linens, but Matella and Tziamara would make up her rooms—further proof that Miss Lee was a very private person.

  As Petie pulled up to the entrance to the Katchabiggie Lodge and stopped, Miss Lee said, “We will speak later, Bradley.” She moved smoothly to open the door and get out on the front steps. She seemed always to be practicing tai chi: graceful, controlled, focused.

  Bradley slid all the way across the seat, leaped out and hopped.

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?” Jeen Lee gestured around them.

  The snowy mountains cupped the valley and fed the river that rushed with cold, green water. The forest, the part that had shown the incredible brilliance to grow away from the river’s reach, stood smugly verdant.

  The whole world smelled of timeless conifers and this year’s spring: cool, invigorating, glorious in its fresh splendor.

  “Great,” Bradley said in English. “Is there a casino?”

  Petie foresaw difficulties for the resort, and even more for him. “No.” She got his bags out of the back. “You have a room in the lodge.”

  Miska hurried down from the wide porch.

  “If you’d place Mr. Copeland’s bags in his room, please,” Petie instructed.

  “Sure!” Miska saluted. This was his first US job, and he was anxious to accommodate her. It was well-known among the staff that Hawley had turned all day-to-day tasks over to her, and she held power over the staff.

  “Where are you staying?” Bradley asked Miss Lee.

  “I have a cabin.” The best cabin, with two bedrooms and two baths and a sitting room with a small conference table for those moments when Miss Lee wanted to speak privately to an employee.

  Clearly, he didn’t like that. If she had a cabin, he wanted one, too, and the demand trembled on his lips.

  Miss Lee looked at him, and Petie knew how cool that gaze could be.

  Bradley turned to Petie. “Do you have a cabin?”

  “Yes. A small, private cabin.” She met his eyes. “At the back of the property in the staff housing.”

  “Oh.” Bradley lost interest.

  “Mr. Foggo likes to greet his guests in person. If you would follow me...” Petie led them into the lodge, through the Great Room, behind the check-in desk and into Hawley’s office.

  The first thing one noticed about Hawley Foggo was his height, six foot five, and his weight, which was... Petie didn’t care to speculate. All she knew was, eve
ry autumn Hawley disappeared from Alaska, and every spring when he came back, his wide face was deeply tanned, and the tan disappeared beneath his starched collar and artfully painted tie. In the winter when she spent too much time alone, she could imagine him sprawled on a beach in the South Pacific, a corpulent island god with a fire hidden deep in his belly.

  She really hoped her imagination had run away with her, but knowing the hedonistic Hawley as she did...probably not.

  “Jenny!” Hawley stood up from his desk and came around to greet Jeen Lee with arms outstretched. “Did Petie take good care of you and your guest?”

  Miss Lee endured his embrace, as she endured his mangling of her name, with serene indifference. “Petie drove me and my guest with perfect competence as always.” She stepped aside and, with a beautifully choreographed gesture, presented the young man who stood behind her. “Mr. Bradley Copeland, formerly of Santa Clara, California, now of Quemada.”

  “Good to meet ya.” Hawley shook Bradley’s hand enthusiastically. “First time here, right? Wait until you pull in your first twenty pounds of fighting salmon!”

  Copeland wore carefully tailored jeans and a starched white shirt. He looked incredulously at Hawley, then slouched, hands in pockets, and drawled, “That sounds...awesome.”

  Miss Lee’s eyes narrowed, and she said to Bradley, “I knew you would be pleased to join your new colleagues in the team bonding exercise.”

  Bradley straightened up so fast, Petie thought he might have given himself whiplash. “I’m pleased to bond with my new team.”

  “The whole group of you’ll go out tomorrow first thing to catch your first fish.” Hawley loved to sell the camp. “Make sure you attend the orientation tonight. Petie runs it, and you’ll come away knowing everything about Alaska and salmon fishing. You’ll be a pro before you start!”

  Bradley cast an unfavorable eye at Petie. “That sounds interesting.”

  Petie thought he was one of those guys who never needed, or wanted, anything explained to him. “We look forward to seeing your success in this new venue.” She was careful not to inject sarcasm into her tone.

  She might not have bothered.

  Not by a flick of an eyelash did he indicate he’d heard her.

  Miss Lee put her hand through his arm. “We should go to our rooms and unpack before our meeting with our people.”

  “And dinner!” Hawley patted his extensive belly. “You’ll have the best chef in Alaska cooking for you at the Katchabiggie Lodge!”

  “Such a...unique...name for the lodge.” Bradley couldn’t have been more insincere.

  “I named it myself. Always makes me chuckle, and isn’t that what we’re all here for? To catch a biggie?” Hawley gave forth with a peal of laughter.

  If Bradley had looked beyond Hawley’s loud, bluff demeanor and wide girth, he would have noted that Hawley’s eyes were sharp, and his new, perfectly tailored suit was a Brioni.

  But Bradley saw no reason to pay attention to others, and he could barely contain his contempt.

  “After Bradley unpacks, he’ll wish to join the rest of my employees as they plunge into this new adventure,” Miss Lee said.

  “Of course.” Petie held the door for them and shut it firmly behind them. She turned back to Hawley.

  “We’re going to have trouble with that boy,” he said.

  4

  “I SUSPECT YOU’RE RIGHT,” Petie said. “Bradley is a superficial man made acceptable by his brilliance.”

  “Ain’t it always the way?” Hawley returned to his desk and lowered himself into his chair. “Have you decided what to do about Jeen Lee?”

  “I’m going to tell her.”

  “You’re makin’ a mistake.”

  “It wouldn’t be my first.”

  “One supposes.” Hawley had never asked what events had driven Petie to the camp, or inquired why she stayed, day after day, month after month, year after year, never leaving the vicinity, never calling out or receiving personal calls, never making friends or taking lovers. In turn, she didn’t ask him about his similar lack of personal relationships.

  Petie liked, admired and respected him. She thought he felt the same about her. But they didn’t share confidences.

  They did share finances.

  Now she followed him to the desk, leaned over and said softly, “We have an investment opportunity with Cardinal Electronics.”

  “What did you hear?”

  Jeen Lee and her people weren’t the only corporate entities that visited Midnight Sun Fishing Camp. Wealthy, successful people came and went, and most seemed only half-aware of Petie as a person, and virtually all of them spoke freely about their successes, their failures and their investments.

  During her second summer, she’d realized her opportunity.

  If she invested as they invested, she might possibly make...a fortune.

  Yet thanks to Donald White, she did not exist in the modern world. She had no identity and no social security number, no way to capitalize on her insider intelligence.

  She began to chart the investments she would make, and the lines for profits made a steep ascent. So in the spring of her third year at Midnight Sun Fishing Camp, she went to Hawley with a proposition. She would report the financial tips to him, he would invest her meager salary for her and take twenty percent as his commission.

  At first he’d been skeptical, but within those first two months, she had more than doubled her money. Then she got cocky and lost it all. He rumbled a laugh and let her sit on her hands until he paid her again. That was when he started investing, too; her successes had convinced him she knew what she was talking about, and he believed her failure had taught her a lesson. Which it had.

  “Invest half my winter’s savings.” She tapped her lips with her index finger. “And sell all my stock in Kontos Structural.”

  “All of it?” Hawley leaned back and folded his hands over his belly. “For what reason?”

  “The prosperity/building cycle is due to end. Sales will crash within a year. I don’t want to take the ride down with the stock prices.”

  “All of Kontos and half your winter’s savings. You’re very sure about this.”

  “I am. Miss Lee wouldn’t steer me wrong.”

  “She didn’t know you were listening.”

  “She doesn’t miss much.”

  “Be careful, Petie, when you tell her, how much you tell her, how you tell her. She’ll not appreciate you sticking your nose in her business, and I have never known a female as dangerous as Jeen Lee.”

  “How many dangerous females have you known?” Petie was joking.

  “All females are dangerous.” He didn’t smile. “It takes a wise man to know that. You’re dangerous. Try to be wise, too.”

  “I’ll be careful. I wouldn’t want to leave you without a camp manager.”

  “I appreciate your care about my nerves.”

  5

  “THIS ISN’T A DISNEYLAND version of the wilderness. This is the wilderness.” Petie stood in front of the massive fireplace, speaking to the eighteen men and women who sat on the lodge’s couches and chairs, and to Hawley, lounging in his oversize recliner in the back. “Do you know what a bear thinks when it comes across a camper in a sleeping bag?”

  The new fisherfolk shook their heads.

  “Mmm, a taco.”

  Laughter.

  The seasoned fisherfolk, the ones who had come with Jeen Lee in previous years, smiled wisely. They knew what was coming.

  Petie asked, “What does a bear think when it comes across a camper with pepper spray in a sleeping bag?”

  Heads shaking.

  “Mmm, a spicy taco.”

  Laughter became less amused, more worried.

  “Bears have right of way. If one wants your salmon, give it to her. If one wants your rod and reel, giv
e it to him. If one wants your liver, pray you’re long gone or he will take it.” Petie had made her point and moved on to the next subject. “A male moose can be almost seven feet at the shoulder and weigh fourteen hundred pounds. Their antlers can have a span of six feet. This isn’t the mating season, so they’re typically not aggressive, but we don’t take chances.”

  “I’m afraid to go out there!” one of the women said.

  Bradley looked up from the phone he’d been told to leave in his room. “Why don’t you fence off the river?”

  Petie didn’t often find herself without words. But his cluelessness rendered her speechless...

  Well, not really. She wanted to shout and wave her arms. But speechless was a better choice.

  Miss Lee asked, “Mr. Copeland, have you looked out the window? Even once?”

  “No, but—”

  “Put the phone away,” she snapped.

  He lifted his lip, much like an aggressive dog called to heel by its master, and slid the phone into his pocket.

  A few sidelong glances. A few not-quite-hidden grins.

  As if nothing had happened, Petie continued, “While you fish, one of the Midnight Sun Fishing Camp employees is always on guard with a powerful rifle.”

  “Are they trained in their use?” Arjun Patel was their Brit, recently employed by Jeen Lee’s company and commuting between London and Quemada.

  Petie subdued a smile. “In the state of Alaska, virtually every citizen is armed, and all of them know how to use their weapons. So yes, if even our employees are not from Alaska, we train them in the use of firearms. Our people are frighteningly competent.” Had she reassured them? She thought so. “When and if a bear or moose or wolf appears—”

  “Wolf?” Lucas Chu pressed himself into the back of his chair.

  “—you’ll hear an alarm that sounds like this.”

  Miska played the melodic chime meant to soothe aggressive wildlife while alerting the guests.